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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress pt. 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a hot encounter in your car, Spencer pulls you inside your apartment hoping to give you some more relief from the heat.

Genre: Smut, with very little plot and some fluff as an appetiser. MINORS DNI

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, soft Dom, oral (M receiving), pet names, degradation, face fucking, messy sex, creampie, breeding kink (contraception mentioned), also they have sex literally against the readers front door but I don't know how I'm supposed to add a warning for that...

Word Count: 2.4K

Here's Part 1 and my Masterlist!

A/N: Welcome back! I have a week off from work and no plans for at least four days, so I'm going to be writing a lot this week, so if anyone wants to be added to a taglist pls reply and let me know! My requests are open, too. For now this mini-series is complete, but I might write a third part at some point with the shower scene. Let me know what you think!

The small moment of silence after feeling yourself die a small death in Spencer’s hands is possibly the clearest your mind has been all week. You felt the fatigue melt away from your body as you relaxed into the car seat, knowing that the man who had once again taken to tracing his fingers in small shapes on your thigh, was absolutely going to take care of you.

As he pulled up to your apartment, however, your mind started working all over again, and you cleared your throat ready to start possibly one of the most awkward conversations you’d ever have in your life.

“Thank you for dropping me off.” You opened, not really sure where you were going, but praying that the car stopping didn’t signal whatever this was between you and your coworker stopping as well.

“Y/N, it’s your car. I didn’t drop you off, I practically commandeered you.” He smiled at you now, with that soft, tender smile you’d so often wished to have directed at you and only you.

“So,” you start, your hesitation shaking your voice slightly, “were you serious about joining me in that shower? Because that is absolutely something I need right now, by the way.” You almost curse yourself for how much your vomiting out the words, but the smile never leaves Reid’s eyes as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“You need the shower or you need me to join you?”

“You know, before today, I’d never have pegged you as such a fucking tease.”

“And I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who begged your coworker to finger-fuck you in the office on full display for your friends to watch, but I guess were both learning a lot about each other today, right?”

“I did not beg.” You stared at him indignantly, finally unbuckling your seatbelt and rearranging your dress and panties so that the walk to your apartment would’nt be too uncomfortable.

Jumping out of the driver side, Spencer quickly joined you at your door as you stepped out of the car, closing the door and pushing you up against it, his hands firmly holding your waist now as he pressed his forehead against yours.

The moment was so intimate you almost forgot how to breathe, but the giggle that jumped from your stomach forced air into your lungs just as his lips curled up into a more playful smile as he responded to you.

“You didn’t beg with your words,” he emphesised the end of his sentence with an innocent kiss to your cheek, pausing to add “but we work as profilers.” Another kiss, this time to your other cheek. “And I’m very good at my job.” This time he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

It was so totally unlike the desperate kisses you shared in the elevator that you were thrown off your guard for a minute and would’ve absolutely lost your balance had he not been there holding you up against your car. Where his earlier kisses had been hot, purposeful and full of need, these were almost deliriously slow. You felt him smiling into the kiss as his hand moved up to cup the back of your head, pushing you further into his embrace as you gave each other everything you had.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air but grinning like fools, he quickly pecked you on the lips again before slipping his hand into yours and pulling you along into your own home. He unlocked your door, threw down the keys and immediately had you pushed up against it, his hands back in your hair as his mouth made its way along your neck, as if he didn’t want to leave any spot untasted, undiscovered.

“Spencer,” you moaned into his embrace, but he did not relent, finding a specifically sensitive spot at the nape of your neck and devoting all of his worldly attention to it.

“Spencer, do you remember when we met?” You breathed out, needing to force the thought out before you lost the chance. He hummed a quick affirmation against your neck, but didn’t pull away, like a child reluctant to part from their favorite toy.

“Spencer, please,” you laughed and finally managed to force him to look into your eyes, your bodies still pushed together at the hips, as if the physical contact was tethering him to the moment.

“Yes, Y/N, I remember. I remember everything, that’s my thing. Now can we continue this, please.” He dropped another kiss to your lips and lingered there for a moment too long as if to punctuate his thought.

Rolling your eyes, you continued. “I tried to shake your hand, and you gave me that speech that you give to everybody about germs and bacteria and whatever and then you said it’d be safer to kiss.”

“What’s your point, princess?”

“The point is that the very second it came out of your mouth, I wanted you to do it. Kiss me, I mean. I wanted you to do this, to pin me against a wall and make my heartbeat ten times faster than it already does, and, yes before you say anything, I know that would be incredibly dangerous for my health, but you are Spencer. You are the most dangerous thing that has happened to me, and I love you so fucking much.”

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t resume your activities either. You just stood there together in companionable silence, breathing each other in. As if breaking himself out of a daze, he finally dragged one finger down your cheek, taking all of you in before replying.

“I love you. And I’m not good with words or talking so I need you to let me show you that I love you. Can you do that, Princess?” You eagerly nod, your hips rolling forward unconsciously, as if your body suddenly remembered what the two of you were there to do.

He pulls your leg into him, letting the entirety of his body push up against you, as you feel the physical manifestation of his desire for you for the first time. He returns to your neck again, but pushes your leg up higher, so he can nestle as deep between you as he can get. You let your hands trail down his body, making quick work at the buttons of that tantilising shirt, and when he comes up for breath, you don’t allow him a moment to move back in before you’re on his neck.

The sweat sticking to his skin tastes salty as you kiss and lick your way from his jaw to his collar bone, pushing his shirt down his back so you can go further down. His throaty moans are the only sounds filling the room as he rocks his hips into your thighs, desperate for friction of any kind.

Although he’s reluctant to let you go, he’s almost relieved when you finally drop to your knees and make short work of his belt, still no further into yout apartment than your welcome mat.

“God, I’m so glad I get to keep this memory of you on your knees for me forever, Princess.” He smooths your now messy hair away from your face as you pull the tops of his pants down just enough to reach into his underwear, too eager to worry about fully derobing him. When his cock finally springs out of his pants, you’re hands are on it immediately. You press small kisses on the tip and sides, your hands moving down to his base as you work your way up to kitten licks, teasing the man slowly.

“Such a little whore for me.” You know from the change in pet names and the tightened grip on your hair that he’s growing impatient, and so you finally take him into your mouth, slowly, making sure to breath through your nose as he moves closer and closer to hitting the back of your throat.

When you get as much of him inside your mouth as you’re able, you start slowly bobbing your mouth up and down, one hand on his thigh maintaining your balance, and the other making sure the rest of his impressive length doesn’t feel neglected.

“Fuck, yes, Just like that baby. You’re doing such a great job,” he moans, but he’s getting impatient again, and you pull off his cock quickly, sticking out your tongue and giving him the permission to use you the way he needs.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says, pulling your hair into place with one hand, whilst the other pumps the base of his cock and pushes it back into your mouth, ready for him to use you like the little slut he knows you are.

“Just breath through it, Princess, you’re doing so well for me.” He starts thrusting into your throat, slowly at first, but quickly building speed like a man deranged, whose only hope at solace is spilling himself into the back of your throat. You do your best to keep your jaw relaxed, and honestly he’s impressed by how long you last, but when you finally start gagging, he’s seeing stars and his groans are having a notable effect on you.

You’re soaking now, so desperate for friction and contact you briefly consider pulling his leg into you and grinding yourself against his shoe, desperate for another release. You know he’s getting closer to his own, when he loosens his hold on your hair and let’s it fall down again, his hands pushing against your front door again as he braces himself.

“God, Princess, look at what you do to me,” he moans as he finally pulls you off of him, your face covered with a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum, a whole lot of which is still trailing between your lips and his cock as you look up at him from beneath hooded eyes.

“Spencer, please,” you shudder and try to catch your breath, as he hits the head of his cock gently against the side of your face, marking you again in the places his lips touched you earlier.

“Please what, Princess? You have to use your words.”

You catch your breath again as his tip traces your bottom lip, gathering some more of your mess.

“Please fuck me, Spencer.” It comes out as a whimper, and he’d almost feel bad if he weren’t so fucking turned on right now, looking down at your innocent face, slick with saliva from choking on his dick. He pulls you up quickly, grabbing at your hips, pulling the bottom of your dress over your ass and ridding you of your panties in one movement.

“So fucking wet for me, my special baby.” He whispers tenderly, pushing your upper body into the door and pressing a small kiss just behind your ear.

He presses himself against your slit, teasing your senstive spots by stroking up and down the length of your pussy until you're dizzy with need and shaking in anticipation. Just as you’re about to scream in frustration and push back on him yourself, he thrusts himself entirely into you, and you are once again breathless.

Your mind goes blank as he pushes into you, gaining a steady rhythm as he whispers praise into your ear.

“You’re taking me so well baby, so fucking good, like you were made just for me.” You feel yourself clench around him as his breath tickles your still sensitive neck, and each time you do you're rewarded with the sweet tones of his groans in your ears.

His hands find their way down to your clit as you beg him for more, unable to form words, but the pants and whimpers you’re letting out supplying him with enough to know that you’re close to the end of your tether.

“Where do you want me, baby?” He asks, his strokes getting slower and somehow even deeper as he does his best to prolong your shared bliss.

“Don’t pull out,” you groan without even thinking. You don’t want to let him go but in this position you cant wrap your legs around him and hold him close so you have to muster up the strength to tell him what you need.

“Oh fuck baby, you want me to fucking cum inside you? Want me to breed you like the little fucking whore you are? Every word drove you crazy, the weight of his body pushing you against the door providing delicious pressure as he drove into you.

“You want everyone to see how good I fuck you? Show everyone how much you like having my cum inside you?” The wet slaps of your skin colliding with each thrust fill the room as your mouth fails to form a reply, your orgasm hitting you as soon as the word inside forms on his tongue.

You shudder around him as your eyes roll back in your head, his fingers on your clit rocking you through it as he keeps up his pace.

“Fuck, that’s it baby girl. Gonna fill you up now, gonna keep you filled from now on,” he moans, and with a final snap of his hips he’s buried inside of you letting his cum flow directly into your unprotected pussy.

You stay like that for a two minutes, panting and gasping for breath, your dress completely stuck to your body, and his pants still stuck around his ankles.

When you both finally catch your breath, he pulls out of you and turns you around, pulling you in for another tender kiss and just holding you for another minute before pulling you further into the apartment.

“Just so you know,” you eventually manage to push out. “I’m on the pill.”

“I know. I saw the pills when we shared that hotel room on the Denver case a few months back. It was still fucking hot though.”

You shared a laugh, almost embarrassed by how much the two of you had wanted each other. You make a bee-line for the bedroom, almost desperate for sleep after your vigorous activities, but Spencer paused as you passed the bathroom.

“You know,” he laughs exhaustedly, “we never did make it to the shower.”

“In due time, Doctor. In due time.”

----X----

🏷️ @spenciesprincess

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mrs-weasley-reid · 6 months ago

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TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not��never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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gublersg1rl · 4 months ago

Note

did nereid really block you or...?

yes i’m literally crying rn all i wanted was a pegging fic @nereidprinc3ss

(joke!)

#jk it was a jokey joke we were just being silly #this made me giggle tho #also i’m not actually into pegging #spencer reid

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spencerreidenjoyer · 5 months ago

Text

take care of you | spencer reid x reader

Sometimes, Spencer needs you to take care of him.

wc: 3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: submissive!spencer, s2/glasses spencer, pegging, face sitting, face riding, cunnilingus (fem!reader)

a/n: couldn't stop thinking about spencer in glasses getting absolutely wrecked. i love him so much!!!! (you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You can tell how much Spencer needs this. He’s been stressed out from work – sure, his job is always kind of stressful, but he looks so exhausted that you feel it in your bones.

Spencer’s never been good at asking for help, either. But the sluggish way he’s been moving around lately, his eyebags somehow even darker than usual, even Penelope texting you after a rough case to take care of Spencer: they all tell you that Spencer needs you more than ever.

“Hi, my love,” you greet from the couch when he opens the door.

Spencer jumps slightly, perhaps not expecting you to be home when he’d gotten to the apartment. He relaxes quickly enough, his tight-set features easing up as he sees you. He smiles, kicking off his shoes, and is quick to let you wrap your arms around him. He melts into your grasp.

“Hey,” Spencer says in a soft voice, but he hugs you so tight you feel a little breathless. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” you hum into his neck, nose ticklish from how his hair is growing out, curling beautifully at the nape of his neck. “Rough day?”

“That’s an understatement,” Spencer sighs. “God, I needed this.”

While you’ve been dating for more than a year, Spencer being happy to touch you always makes you feel proud – it reminds you that you’re special to Spencer, that Spencer trusts you.

“I know, sweetheart,” you say softly, your hand petting his soft hair. “Do you want– Do you need me to take care of you tonight? To shut your brain off for a little bit?”

Spencer’s sharp intake of breath is loud in the otherwise silent apartment. He pulls away, wet, brown eyes looking into yours. “You– Really? How did you–”

“I guessed you needed it,” you say, reaching to hold his hands in yours. “Do you need that?”

“Yes, please.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper.

“Come on, love,” you smile, tugging him into the bedroom.

You take care of him like this: taking off his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing him as you undo his belt and push his slacks off. Spencer is laid on the bed for you, only in his underwear, laid out bare for you.

Spencer looks so cute wearing his glasses, and you tell him that when he moves to take them off. He blinks at you. “Do you want me to keep them on?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “Makes you look extra fuckable.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, smiling, but Spencer’s mouth falls open in a gasp as your hand reaches for his cock, touching him through his briefs. His cock jumps at your touch.

You sigh contentedly. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.”

He whimpers, lower lip pulled between his teeth. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I just want to take care of you, love.” You hum, meeting Spencer’s eyes as you slip your hand down the waistband of his underwear, wrapping your hand around him.

“Oh–” He moans at the contact, hips instinctively bucking up into your touch. “Mmm, please.”

“Want me to fuck you, baby?”

Spencer nods, but you can tell he’s still on edge, attempting to give up control. He’s never been too good at that.

You lean forward to kiss him. He moans, kissing you back quickly enough, desperate and hungry. He needs you, wants you, and the attention makes you preen.

You’ve pushed Spencer’s underwear down by now, unabashedly stroking his fully-hard cock. He’s leaking all over your hand now, so the slide of your hand on him is easy. His moans against your lips turn you on to no end, getting him off while he’s like this almost feels like your duty.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur as you pull away. You’re met with a whine from Spencer, like he’s too far gone to realise you plan to give him more, instead of just taking his pleasure away from him.

This is good. His colleagues have always joked that Spencer’s IQ drops when he’s around a pretty girl. Maybe you’ll be able to stop his overthinking mind tonight.

“Oh, don’t pout, darling,” you coo, finding it amusing how Spencer is basically throwing a fit over how you’ve stopped kissing him, stopped touching him. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

Spencer’s face is red in an instant, like he’s shocked at the sudden brazenness of it all. He pulls his lips into a thin line, sheepish, but he nods. You smile and say, “Then let me get ready for you, darling.”

He finally lets you go, but his eyes are wide and wet as he looks up at you, as you stare down at him. He looks like he wants to ask you something, but can’t find the words. “Tell me what you want, Spence.”

“I want– Can I touch myself? While– While you get ready?” He’s tripping over his words, and you feel like screaming into your hands just because he’s so cute.

“Yes, darling. Don’t make yourself cum just yet, though,” you hum. “Wanna see you cumming on my cock.”

Spencer lets out a whimper, nodding as he wraps his hand around himself in an instant. He’s desperate, needy, and you feel so crazy about him that you feel the adrenaline in your veins as you get your harness out. Your hands shake as you attach your pink, sparkly dildo to your harness, as you take your clothes off (Spencer stares at you, making you feel so desired), strapping your harness on tight.

In your bra with a dildo strapped to yourself, you sit between Spencer’s legs, spreading for you as he lays back on the bed you share. Lube is squeezed into your fingers, you warm it up between your thumb and index. You notice the way Spencer isn’t fully out of it yet, not in the way you want him to be.

So, leaning forward, you take Spencer’s cock between your lips, enveloping him in wet heat inch by inch. You watch his face morph with pleasure, perfectly ruined by your mouth. He always gets like this when your mouth is on him, loses his mind a little, loses the words to verbalise his pleasure. (And he always has the words.)

Spencer lets out an open-mouthed gasp, delicate and needy. His large hand comes up to his face, pushing his glasses up like he needs to get a better look at you. Spencer is desperate, eager, hips stuttering up into your mouth. You push his hips down with a firm hand. He moans.

You take the lead as you suck him off, acting more of a distraction as you rub your fingers over his hole, slick with lube as you get him to ease up. Spencer’s always been stubborn, but when you have him like this, he gives in rather easily.

“Fuck, please, please,” Spencer’s begging now, and you’re so turned on you feel your head spin, your heart pounding in your chest. You slip a finger in, giving Spencer the pleasure he needs, and he moans so sweetly you feel like you need to fuck him right now.

Now that he’s a little less on edge, you pull off of him, focusing on fingering Spencer. You work him open rather meticulously, coaxing him open slowly. When Spencer’s in a headspace like this he gets needy and a little helpless, letting you take the lead (and not helping much). He whimpers and gasps as you fuck one finger into him, then two, hitting that sweet spot inside of him as you get him to relax. His cock twitches with every stroke of your fingers, leaking pathetically all over his soft stomach.

“Feels good, darling?” you hum.

Spencer moans. “Yes, so good. I– So good.”

“So pretty for me, Spence,” you sigh, smiling up at him. You slip a third finger into him and he cries out so pathetically you feel like you’re losing your mind. “You sound so pretty too.”

“Fuck,” Spencer gasps, as your fingers work inside of him. His face is pushed into the pillow underneath him, his glasses sitting awkwardly from the angle. He’s wiggling his toes, writhing, and you can tell that he wants more. He tries to say something else, but it comes out garbled.

You pull your fingers out, and when Spencer whines from the loss, you coo, “Okay– Okay, darling. I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

You press a kiss to the soft skin of his inner thigh, and when you look up at Spencer, he smiles so wide. You want to kiss him. You pucker your lips at him obnoxiously, and he giggles.

Getting on your knees between his legs, you slick up your strap with more lube. Spencer is sickeningly adorable as he watches you stroke the dildo, a perversion of the way it usually goes. Spencer looks enthralled, as if you stroking yourself is doing something for him, even if it doesn’t do anything for you. You smirk at him, and his cheeks flush.

You wrap your hand around Spencer’s cock and stroke his cock with whatever’s left on your hand. The extra slick slide aided by the lube makes Spencer jolt and buck his hips, your hand feeling particularly amazing on him.

“Come on, baby,” you coo, as you press the blunt head of your strap to Spencer’s hole. “You’re gonna take me in so well, aren’t you, Spence?”

Spencer is all gangly limbs, but he’s so desperate that he feels so small underneath you. His cock is leaking, and his flush has moved from his face all the way down to his chest, which rises and falls as he breathes hard. His gorgeous, lovely eyes don’t leave your frame. No matter what, he looks at you like you hung the stars.

“I will,” Spencer says softly, adoration in his tone. He’s holding his breath, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he looks up at you. You smile at him, before you press your strap into him. His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut, gasping as he feels you inside of him.

You press into him so slow, taking your time, your head spinning with how pretty Spencer looks under you. While you always enjoy the sight of Spencer on top of you, he’s gorgeous like this too. Spencer’s always a little timid, submissive for sure. You find it cute. Sometimes, taking care of him like this just makes sense.

You watch as Spencer swallows you up greedily, the length of your strap disappearing inside of him. He shudders as you press your hand down on his lower abdomen, the softness of his stomach grounding you as you start to piston your hips. “Is that good, darling? Feels good?”

He nods hastily with a whimper. The bottoms of his glasses have fogged up, with the gentle sheen of sweat on Spencer’s skin and how warm his face must be by now. He’s sinfully innocent, and you resist the urge to bite him.

Instead, you wrap your hand around his cock. He moans loudly, eagerly. You curse, your own arousal heightening even with the lack of physical touch. You keep thrusting into him, getting off on the way Spencer squirms and whines. “You sound so pretty like this, Spence.”

“Please,” Spencer groans, his voice coming out whiny and broken. “I’m so close, I wanna–”

“Already?” You feign your disappointment, even though you can’t blame Spencer for being needy in the slightest, especially since you’ve made it so easy for him to let himself go tonight. “I’ve barely had my fun with you, baby.”

He gasps, hurried and desperate: “I– I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

To be fair, you weren’t planning on denying Spencer of an orgasm, but you’re more than happy to take Spencer up on that offer.

You grin. “Cum for me then, Spence.”

You watch his features scrunch up with pleasure as his orgasm hits him, his load splattering all over his stomach, dribbling down your knuckles as you stroke him through it. It’s adorable, the way his hips stutter, the way his mouth falls open in little, incoherent gasps as he orgasms.

You feel like you could admire him like this forever, the softness of his frame and features, the gentleness as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous, and you can’t take your eyes off of him. Spencer smiles once he catches your eye, sheepish at your intense gaze and the attention you’ve given him.

Sitting up, Spencer’s hands reach for your waist, fumbling to undo your harness. It’s adorable, and you rest your hand on his to get his attention. He looks up at you, hair messy, eyes wide. You kiss him softly, slowly, Spencer reaching up to cup your cheek as he kisses you back sweetly.

You feel the harness loosening around your hips on the left side of your body, and it makes you pull away with a grin. “Multitasking, I see.”

“I want to make it up to you, my love,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. “I’m just in a hurry to get to it.”

You laugh, kissing the corner of his grin once more before you let him get back to undoing your harness. You take your panties off, tossed aside to be dealt with later, and Spencer dips his fingers between your legs. You feel his long digits swipe at the wetness that’s gathered there already. “You’re so perfect.”

“How do you want me, darling?” you hum, moaning softly as his fingers start to rub at your clit.

“Like this.” Spencer lays back, pulling you forward by your thighs, until your body is hovering over his neck, just enough where you can meet Spencer’s eyes.

“Oh,” you say. “You- You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. I want you to sit on my face,” Spencer says simply, and you feel like melting. Sure, you’ve been together a long time, but you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious, being close to Spencer like this. Will you be too heavy? What if you suffocate him, or worse, crush his neck? He can clearly tell you’re overthinking it, because he adds, “Come on. Please?”

“This is one hell of a way of making it up to me,” you laugh.

Spencer’s completely serious about it, though, as he furrows his brows. “I mean it. You’re not going to hurt me. It’s statistically improbable that you’d break my neck or something. You’ll feel good, and I will too. I’ll be careful if you’re worried.”

“Okay,” you say softly, feeling slightly more comforted by Spencer’s words. He presses a kiss to your thigh, smiling up at you.

Spencer pulls you closer, urging you to sit down. You don’t put your full weight down on him at first, but the way he pulls you down onto him startles you, so you can’t even attempt to control how hard you sit on his face. He moans when you’re seated, as you feel his lips between your legs, his nose nudging at your clit. His glasses are askew on his face but it’s too late for Spencer to take them off, and it doesn’t look like he cares to, either.

Spencer’s a god at giving head – Lord knows where he learned that from – but it’s even better when he’s needy. The best orgasms you’ve had were after Spencer was particularly worked up, extra needy over you, and dove between your legs like his life depended on it.

Today is somehow even better.

Maybe he’s made pliant by the way you fucked him earlier, but it feels so right, the way Spencer coaxes your hips forward. With his glasses digging into your thighs and his arms hooked around your legs, Spencer pulls you towards him, letting you ride his face to get you off. It’s like he needs to make you cum, like he can’t carry on if he didn’t.

There’s an added desperation you feel, deep-seated in your bones, wanting Spencer to pleasure you like you did with him. It’s never been transactional with Spencer, both of you naturally wanting to please – but Spencer is so sweet and kind with you, and you’re turned on to no end because of him.

You feel his tongue lap at you, over your leaking hole, over your swollen clit. You feel so loved, so taken care of, just like you took care of Spencer. You only see the rims of his glasses, his brows furrowed and his eyes presumably squeezed shut as he eats you out, but God, you adore him.

“Please, Spence,” you moan. You feel like you can’t explain it, but you ramble, “Feels so good, you’re– You’re so good for me, baby.”

He moans, pulling you closer to him like he can’t get enough of you. You’re afraid he won’t be able to breathe, but he’s doing just fine burying his head between your legs, giving you everything you need. He pleasures you like he needs it too.

Everything is just right, his eagerness to make you orgasm, coupled with the way your head is spinning from his lovely submissiveness from earlier. Spencer is perfect, and you think you should do this more often.

You rock your hips forward, letting his hands guide you through the motions. He’s got a one-track mind, only focused on your pleasure, and you’re shaking with your orgasm before you even know it. You cry out as your orgasm wracks through your whole body, your thighs clamping down on Spencer’s face. His own moans are muffled between your legs, which push you further over the edge. You ride out your orgasm just like that, with Spencer whimpering as you use him.

You put Spencer out of his misery when your hips slow to a stop, pulling back as you roll onto the mattress next to him. He looks like he’s in bliss, like he could’ve died happy between your legs. He turns to look at you, the lower half of his face wet with slick, his glasses sitting skewed on his nose. He swoons, “You’re the love of my life.��

You laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “I know, darling.”

You lean over to rest your head on him contentedly. Unfortunately, despite how satisfied (and admittedly tired) you are from tonight, Spencer seems to have other ideas.

“You’re hard again,” you note, eyebrow raised curiously.

Spencer smiles sheepishly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Let me take care of you, then.” With your hand skirting down his stomach, you press your lips to his, with his sticky chin and all.

“Happily,” Spencer grins.

#spencer reid smut #spencerreidenjoyer writes #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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moonstruckme · 6 months ago

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bonfire! spencer reid + only one bed trope pls 💕💕

Thanks for requesting!

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 535 words

You wouldn’t have pegged Spencer for a heavy sleeper.

You suppose it makes sense. With a brain like his and a schedule like your team’s, good rest when he can get it is probably essential. You’d all worked late into the night tonight, so late that Hotch had decided you should just sleep here and get on the jet home in the morning. Rooms at the hotel had been purchased for your team for the last two nights, but none of you had used the first one, so when you and Spencer had gotten here a few hours ago it had come as a surprise that you’d been double-booked. Or single-booked, maybe.

Two cards, one room. One singular bed, plus a pull-out couch that you’d both offered halfheartedly to take before collapsing into the plush mattress and 300 thread-count sheets. You’d both changed into your pajamas and fallen asleep almost instantly, at least two chaste feet of space between you on the bed. You’d woken hardly an hour later with an embarrassing pool of drool on your pillow and a long-fingered hand curled in the material of your shirt.

You can’t decide whether to be grateful for the fact that Spencer doesn’t so much as stir when he hooks an ankle over yours, urging you closer to him almost entreatingly while your fatigued heart starts kicking in your chest. You stay facing away from him, looking into the pitch darkness. You can’t move any farther away without edging off the bed, but you try anyway, inching until one of your legs is dangling off the mattress, and when you slip the other from beneath Spencer’s ankle there’s a soft, plaintive sound from behind you. His fingers wind tighter into your shirt.

You freeze.

Spencer’s breaths are deep and even, and you marvel at it as he crosses his ankle over yours again, bare calf sliding against yours and interlocking your legs more securely. And frankly, you’re too tired to fight it.

You scoot backwards on the bed. It’s twice as easy as it had been going the other direction, probably because of the way the mattress dips in the middle or Spencer’s slight tug or maybe even some sort of magnetic pull like in those books Penelope’s always reading. You suppose anything is possible. Whatever the case, it seems to be a relief for you both. Spencer’s other hand wraps around your middle as soon as you’re close enough, gentle and contented, and he’s warm enough to make the freezing air blasting through the A/C feel comfortable.

His quiet sigh hits the back of your neck as you both settle, a few careful inches still between you. Even unconscious, you think politeness must be ingrained in Spencer, because his touch stays over the material of your shirt, courteous and unmoving. You let your fingers stroke over his once, and they twitch in his sleep.

You don’t remember closing your eyes, but heavy as they are it can’t take long. When the blue light of early morning cuts through the drawn curtains and Spencer’s limbs stiffen where they’re twined around you, his breath catching in surprise and embarrassment, you’ll pretend you’re a heavy sleeper, too.

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womenloverlmao · 8 months ago

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Spencer Reid NSFW Alphabet

He's so babygirl

Im not adding warnings or like whats included because this is all over the fucking place and yeah that's nobody's fault but my own but still

Dont like it dont read it, dont complain.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He thinks it's so fucking important, he could probably go off on a rant about it, too. (But let's be honest, he can go off on a rant about anything.) He thinks it creates an emotional bond, shit like that. Even though he's the sub, he does like to take care of you after you take care of him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite (and yours of his) are his hands. He knows he knows what to do with them, driving you absolutely crazy. He also 100% teases you with it too, just saying. He can be insecure sometimes about certain things, but he knows them.

He loves your thighs and tits. Let's be honest, we all know he's a boob guy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cries when he climaxes sometimes.

Also he either likes cumming in you or on your tits. (Bro is obsessed with the tibbies)

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes steals your panties, but he puts them back (after washing them) and you don't really notice. He also knows how to hide it so like

This one you know about, he was getting INTO it and he got a work call that he had to pick up while he was still inside you. A couple whimpers were let out when you moved against him and it was so embarrassing but no one besides you two know. they thought he was sick because he is a sickly victorian child

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bro is not experienced at all, he was a virgin before you, but he knows what he's doing from reading so fucking much about literally everything. Sure, he might be awkward at first, but once he's done it once and is sure you like it he's pretty good at everything.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes when you're on top, but his favorite is when your legs are thrown either around his waist or over his shoulders as he absolutely pounds into you like a bitch in heat.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

there are moments where even when he is balls-deep inside you you both can't help but laugh. he sometimes spews random facts and he can't shut himself up so it can be really a mess but you both love it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It all depends on your preferences. He keeps it relatively short, but if you need it shorter he'll do it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It's 100% Intimate, even if it can be silly sometimes. it's just different, in your own way, really.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he's on his own in a hotel room and you're back home and he needs you, he'll do it. Most of the time he needs your voice to do so, but he knows when you go to bed, and if it's before that he will call you but if it's not he'll do it on his own. If you send him pictures of yourself? uses them. he won't admit it, but he does.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Mommy kink. I don't need to elaborate.

Orgasm Denial

Overstimulation

B r e e d i n g.

Degradation but only a little, you have to add praise to it and then it's fine.

Kinda like possession?? But not like in a keeping you or him locked up, in a 'you're mine' way.

Hair pulling.

Probably into pegging

Nipple play on you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom. That's pretty much it. He gets to thinking too much anywhere else. He gets too into thinking in the bedroom, how do you expect him to fuck you in a bathroom shawty

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You in his clothes. Dirty talk. Sometimes it's nothing specific, and he's touch-starved so he can act like a teenager.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I feel like he would stay away from bondage after Hankel. Before then, he would be fine, but chances are this all takes place after so yeah no. Same reason for spanking and shit. It may look like he's super kinky, but there are more things he wouldn't do than things he would.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes when you give him head but dude would do anything if you let him eat you out. He's absolutely amazing. He has your body memorized, so like

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do whatever, but when he's trying to make himself cum (normally after he's made you cum and leaves you super fucking overstimulated but he wants to cum so badly) he's fast and like holy f u c k. but he knows how you like it, so before then it's whatever makes you cum quickest so he can cum. also random but I forgot to put that he always makes you cum first.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Will do them, but prefers having time with you and that shit.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is but if it's something listed up there it's a no. He could try different things but there are many things that he just wouldn't do.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Can go like three five-minute rounds with breaks in between them, but when he's doing it on you he will probably overstimulate you to no end just trying to make you feel good.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have anything but if you wanted to do things with them, they could be implanted.

If you got a dildo he would let you use it on him after a little bit of convincing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on the day and if he's being a dom or a sub, but even inside of those it depends. He leans more submissive and loves to please you, but he is 100% a brat and will tease you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is l o u d. he can be quiet but he will whimper, moan, whine, beg. (bitch in heat I'm not sorry)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves listening and being the sub while being the top. Like... do you get what I mean?

Also one time he was in you, rubbing your clit, trying to get you to cum and he said 'Did you know about 75% of the clitoris is inside the body' and you actually burst out laughing and yall had to stop what you were doing and like gather everything and make sure you didn't die while he was inside you again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6.5 inches, and thick. like, ripping your vagina from the inside out thick. (why am I set on this hill please murder me slowly)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It wasn't high. until you came around, then he is just like EVERY MOMENT OF THE DAY turned on. it's physically impossible, or it should be.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If it weren't so icky in his head he could probably fall asleep immediately afterwards, but he has to clean it up and then he can fall asleep.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid headcanon #headcanons

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minswriting · 6 months ago

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♡ SPENCER REID MASTERLIST ♡

♡ = smut

series

dirty impulses - perverted spencer - watching him get off to you - cumming in his pants - cumming in your mouth

one-shots

nsfw alphabet ♡

virginities lost ♡

fear of loving you (slight nsfw)

dirty impulses ♡

no higher being than you ♡

blurbs

overstimulating sub spencer ♡

helping him get off ♡

masturbating to you ♡

riding him due to his leg ♡

thinking about his fingers ♡

taking his frustration out on you ♡

mutual masturbation ♡

phone sex ♡

car sex ♡

taking his virginity ♡

overstimulation ♡

pegging spencer ♡

glasses spencer

oblivious spencer ♡

very horny spencer ♡

giving him head for the first time ♡

car sex with post prison spencer ♡

masturbating in the shower to you ♡

snuggling best friend spencer

soft and lazy sex with spencer ♡

pressing on your stomach during sex ♡

distracted during studying

using a vibrator in public ♡

sleepy sex with spencer ♡

“we’ll make it fit” ♡

face fucking ♡

praise kink ♡

sucking him off in a confessional ♡

jerking off to unsub reader ♡

on the dining room table ♡

nervous dirty talk ♡

to feel, not see ♡

teaching him to finger you ♡

rambling as you jerk him off ♡

fucking the attitude out of you ♡

mirror on the ceiling ♡

conjugal visit ♡

giving him head ♡

using a camcorder and polaroid camera ♡

fingering you in front of mirror ♡

brat spencer ♡

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminals minds x reader #♡ — minsmasterlist

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sreidisms · 6 months ago

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Stress Release

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!GN!Reader

Summary: Spencer needs you to take care of him after a rough couple of days at his new job.

Genre: smut

Word Count: 861

Warnings: pegging, reader is GN but uses a strap-on so?? afab implied, slight cum play, slight overstimulation if you squint, many many pet names (sweet boy, love, sweetheart, darling, baby).

A/N: I needed something to get my creative juices going because I've been in the worst writing slump of my life, so enjoy this quick little blurb of the cutest, subbiest Spence <3

Spencer was splayed out on your shared bed, his previously-gelled hair tousled and spread out on the fresh sheets like a halo around his head, however juxtaposing the current situation he was in - it was far from holy as your strap-on was gliding in and out of him with lewd ease.

The excuse from your boyfriend was that he needed the stress fucked out of him - maybe not put as crudely as that, but you knew what words were floating through his head. Paperwork, cases, and meeting people had been too much for the new agent, and he just wanted you to fuck him dumb for a while, for positive psychological purposes only obviously.

“How’s that feeling, sweet boy?” you cooed, pressing his knees further back to get the right angle to hit that lovely spot deep inside his abdomen.

“Mmm … g-great,” he mumbled, licking his lips and letting his mouth fall open once again.

“That’s good, Spence. Keep your legs like this, please, love.” Your hands moved to hold his slender and naked waist, thus providing you with the perfect leverage to smoothly thrust the thick dildo into his tight hole.

Pegging had been a recent addition to your sex life and you had been surprised when Spencer brought it up one day, timidly explaining how he had stumbled upon it online and wanted to try it out; little did he know, you had been dreaming about that scenario for months. With gentle steps and a good amount of research, it soon became a favourite activity for the both of you.

Spencer didn’t know why he liked it so much. It was probably a mix of being able to let go for once in his life and let someone else do the taking care of, he reflected. And besides, it was nice to not have to think about the logistics of something for a change.

For you? Oh, you loved watching your bright and loquacious genius be reduced to whines and pants every once in a while. It wasn’t a secret that he overworked himself and so you wanted to allow him the space to lay back when needed.

Now, one of your hands had found its way to your boyfriend’s throbbing cock, setting a relentless pace, up and down to give him more relief.

“O-Oh fuck,” he whined as he grasped your arm with a tight grip. “Don’t … stop, d-don’t …” His sentence was cut off when your thumb stroked the underside of his tip, forcing out a guttural moan and a harsh thud as his head hit the mattress again.

You hushed him. “You don’t have to worry, darling. Just relax, I’m here to make you feel good.” He nodded frantically, sucking his lower lip with his teeth to stifle the noises that were begging to escape his mouth.

As much as it was embarrassing, you were sure that your neighbours on the floor beneath your apartment could hear the never-ending squeak of the bed frame grinding against the linoleum, but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Your mind was set on bringing the highest of pleasures to your boyfriend as you skilfully hit his prostate over and over, each push of your hips punctuated with a moan from Spencer.

“P-Please …”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you asked worriedly, quickly cupping his cheek with the hand that was resting on his waist. “Are you close?”

“Uh huh … please, please l-let me …” The sentence died at the back of his throat.

“Go ahead, you’ve been such a good boy, you deserve this.”

You stopped your actions for a second and swiftly pulled him closer to you from his legs, accidentally ramming the tip of your strap-on painfully hard against his sweet spot. It wasn’t your intention but cum gently dribbled down his flushed dick as he panted.

In an effort to not leave him with a ruined orgasm, you planted your fists on the bed, Spencer’s angelic face between them, and you hiked your knees up onto the edge of the bed before picking up the pace once more and driving the fake cock deep inside him.

“O-Oh …” The man was too far gone drowning in pleasure to have the energy to make noise, eyes screwed shut and fingers fisting the sheets.

“There we go,” you purred. The feeling of more cum being fucked out of him spread across both of your stomachs, creating the most delicious mess you could imagine.

You eventually took pity on him and slowed down your hips and teasingly pressed on his legs to spread them further, pulling back to see his weeping length softening against his porcelain skin.

“You did so well, Spence.” You took your pointer finger and spread the viscous liquid across his tummy, and then slowly traced it to the head of his cock. His hips bucked forward and he hissed.

“D-Don’t … sensitive.”

You giggled and leaned down to give him a soft kiss. “Sorry, baby, you’re so easy to tease.”

Spencer’s eyes opened to meet your loving expression and he smiled in return. “I love you.”

“I love you too, always.”

I hope you enjoyed this! I promise I'll get to writing all the suggestions in my inbox eventually, it means so much to me that people show interest :) thank you

#writingreidisms #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #mgg smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #gn reader #sub spencer reid #sub!spencer

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de4dlyniightshade · 9 months ago

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꩜ BEHIND CLOSED DOORS!

꩜ PAIRING: sub!spencer reid x dom!afab!reader

꩜ RATING: 18+, mdni

꩜ WORD COUNT: 5.4k

꩜ WARNINGS/CONTAINS!: smut, d/s dynamics, "sweet pea" used SO MANY times, established relationship, inexperienced!spencer, first time pegging, tiny corruption kink, anal fingering(m receiving), mommy kink, aftercare, dacryphilia, overstimulation, slight edging, lots of praise, pet names(baby boy, sweet boy, baby etc), spencer going nonverbal lowkey, subspace

꩜ LYRIC: "Everybody's saying you're no good for me. But they don't see the dirty stuff you do to me"

[WARNING!] - explicit sexual content! mdni!

꩜ A/N: this is like the first thing i'm actually nervous to post bcs i've been teasing this for so long and i'm scared it won't live up to expectations 0-0

Spencer was many things, subtle was not one of them. especially when he had something on his mind, like now. He was standing awkwardly in the doorway of your shared bedroom, shifting around on his feet as if to try and get your attention with a little tap show but you kept your focus on your book as you lay splayed out in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, wearing only plaid pyjama pants and a tank top.

you fought the smirk that twitched at the corners of your lips as you saw Spencer get more and more ansty in your peripheral vision, his hands clasped in front of him stiffly as he swayed in place and you couldn't help but let your curiosity get the better of you.

"you gonna tell me what you want or just stand there and watch me, baby?" your tone was flat and you didn't even look up from your page as you spoke. You weren't doing it to be dismissive or rude, you just knew that your uninterested demeanour would get Spencer even more riled up, which it did, the sudden sound of your voice making his throat dry up and the words leave his mind.

Spencer didn't really know how to breach the subject, he knew what he wanted very well and he knew what to say but it was how, how was he supposed to tell you with a straight face that he found your strap on and wanted you to use it on him? he trusted you of course, with his life, but he was still so new to a lot of things relationship wise and still struggled with properly communicating his needs and wants, which was okay, you were nothing but patient with him and honestly it was endearing the way he stuttered and stumbled over his words when it came to anything lewd.

"I-I um- I don't- I don't know how to..." spencer's words died in his throat as he dropped his gaze to the floor, a pink blush spreading over his cheeks. your curiosity truly piqued, he was always nervous and shy but this was entirely different, he looked like he was about to sprint away from you and hide forever at a seconds notice.

"Say it?" you finished his sentence, Spencer briefly meeting your eyes before he nodded shyly, hands still clasped at his crotch, his glasses low on his nose from the way he'd had his head lowered.

"C'mere, sweet pea, sit," you finally slid the bookmark into your book, motioning spencer to sit at the edge of the bed before you set it down on your nightstand, sitting up properly to give him your full attention as he sheepishly lowered himself to sit at the bottom of the bed, your eyes on him honestly didn't help his case any, the way they bore into him making him feel so small.

"Now, use your words, what is it that you want?" your tone wasn't demanding or domineering, more encouraging, the way you enunciated each word reminding spencer how he can trust you with anything, no matter how bizarre, minimal or trivial, you'd always made sure he knew that your relationship was a safe space for anything he had to say.

"I uhm- I-I want- mmph" spencer cut himself off with a whine, averting his eyes from yours and focusing on his lap, letting out a shaky breath. "aw baby boy" you cooed, scooting down the bed to him and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder blade.

"You can tell me baby, remember? no judgement." you spoke softly as you gently stroked your hand over his back, helping soothe his nerves.

"O-Okay I- I want you to...uhm...f-fuck me" spencer's voice was barely above a whisper, stumbling over his words as he blushed a dark pink and completely avoided looking at you, almost as if you weren't even there.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, it wasn't like what he said was hard to understand it's just that you fucked him all the time so what was so terrifying about asking you this time? it wasn't his first time outright asking you to fuck him, which he did always get bashful about but not like this.

"I don't think I follow, I fuck you all the time baby, what's so scary about this time?" Your voice was filled with genuine confusion as you spoke, your words making Spencer whine. I mean what did he expect, you weren't a mind reader, of course you weren't going to immediately know what he meant.

"N-Not like that..." he reiterated, trying to sway you to the answer on your own so he wouldn't have to say it, so he wouldn't have to admit that he'd done nothing but picture you fucking him senseless with a silicone cock for days on end.

"You want me to fuck you differently? you want me to be less rough? more rough?" you suddenly felt a guilt in your stomach at the thought that you had been too rough with him and he hadn't told you at the time, just going along to please you, which is the last thing you wanted.

"N-No! not that- I just- I uhm- I found...something...in your drawer and I-" spencer's voice trailed off but as soon he motioned to said drawer it all clicked into place, he had found your strap on and wanted you to fuck him.

"Oh! goodness why didn't you just say that, baby? for a second I thought I'd been too rough with you," your voice was laced with genuine relief before you paused completely, his words actually reaching your brain and processing. He wanted you to peg him. Your sweet, innocent, submissive boyfriend wanted you to peg him, it was like a wet dream.

"I-I was...nervous" Spencer answered your question, still nervous but a lot less so now that the worst of it was over, or so he thought.

"Sweet boy, no need to be nervous about that, you could've just said you wanted mommy to fuck your pretty hole" your tone dropped as you spoke, tugging your lip between your teeth when you heard spencer let out a quiet gasp at your lewd words, unable to even muster up a reply.

"wanna tell mommy what you were snooping for?" you pressed, knowing that he probably wasn't snooping for anything in particular, in all honesty he was probably putting something away for you and just so happened to stumble upon the wrong, or right(depending on how you look at it)drawer.

"N-Nothing! it was an accident, mommy, I swear" Spencer spoke hurriedly, slightly panicked sounding at the accusation and you couldn't help but coo at him, feeling a rush of arousal through you at his state.

"Okay, okay, i believe you, baby," you raised your hands in surrender, Spencer looking slightly relieved that he wouldn't have to plead with you to believe him like the time he had a wet dream and you accused him of touching himself without permission, which was untrue, he was such a good boy and had never once intentionally broken any of your rules.

"So tell me, sweet pea, how long has this been playing on that magnificent mind of yours?" your tone was slightly teasing, mostly because you knew that it had been playing on his mind for at least a few days for him to bring it up, knowing all to well how he was never very forward with his desires.

You saw Spencer's eyes widen slightly before he let them trail around the room, letting a breath out from his nose, his eyes fluttering closed. "L-Like...uhm a week" you knew he was bullshitting you, he knew exactly how long he had been thinking about it, there was no such thing as "like a week" to spencer and he knew you didn't buy it with the way you lowered your head, brows quirking.

"...eleven days" he admitted bashfully, fidgeting with his hands as the tension grew thick in the room, the feeling of your eyes boring into him making him gulp and shift in his seat.

"Aww you poor thing, must've been so worked up about the whole thing hm?" you crooned, feigning a pout at him as he nodded, mirroring a pout back to you, paired with big doe eyes.

"Why don't you take your clothes off for me, baby boy" you breathed in his ear, resting your chin on his shoulder while stroking your hand over his waist, a quiet whine escaping his lips as you pulled away from him, purposely sauntering over to your drawers slowly.

Spencer swallowed thickly as he moved to start unbuttoning his shirt, his slender fingers moving quickly until he reached the last button, quickly pulling his shirt down his shoulders and tossing it on the floor before moving to undo his pants, his movements stopped by you retrieving the strap on and a bottle of lube from the drawer, the sight making spencer's thighs clench in anticipation.

You turned around to see Spencer gawking at the item in your hand with wide eyes, not even noticing you looking at him until you cleared your throat, "what did I tell you to do?" you reminded him, Spencer's hands fumbling as he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, "sorry, mommy" he murmured, averting your gaze once again.

You watched like a hawk as Spencer hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and boxers, lifting himself enough to tug them down over his ass and down his legs, kicking them off to the side, leaving him in just his glasses and endearingly mismatched socks.

"Thats mommy's good boy, so pretty baby," you praised, watching spencer's leaking cock twitch at your words, the sight making you bite your lip as you made your way over to him, setting down the strap and lube before positioning yourself in front of him, lifting his chin with your finger to look at you.

"Sit back for me, baby" you ordered softly, Spencer immediately complying, shifting back to the middle of the bed and pressing his knees together nervously when he realised how exposed he was, which made you smile sweetly at him.

You slowly climbed onto the bed with him, placing your hands on his knees and urging his thighs apart, Spencer gulping as he let his legs go slack, exposing his painfully hard, leaking cock, the tip flushed red and swollen, you know he's aching to be touched, his sensitive cock having been neglected of any stimulation.

"So pretty baby" you murmured, smoothing your hands down his inner thighs, purposefully stopping just shy of where he needed you, a whimper falling from his lips when you pulled your hands away completely.

"Need to get you prepped, sweet pea, 's that okay?" you made sure to make it abundantly clear that he had an out if he changed his mind, which he already knew but it didn't hurt to remind him.

Spencer nodded shakily, eyes darting anywhere but your face. "words, my love" you raised your brow at him with a knowing expression, reminding him of the rules. "y-yes, mommy" he stuttered, a visible sheen of sweat on his forehead and a flush spreading down to his chest.

"Good boy" you breathed, leaning back to retrieve the lube and popping the cap open, squeezing out a generous amount onto your middle and index finger. "Wider, baby" you encouraged, nudging his knee with your elbow, Spencer immediately spreading his legs wider for you, blushing impossibly harder at the compromising position.

"Doing good baby, this is gonna be cold, okay?" you warned as you lowered your hand, Spencer nodding, his breathing slightly laboured as he watched your hand inch closer and closer to him until the cold sensation of the lube pressing to his entrance made him gasp, eyes squeezing shut as you smeared the slightly thick substance over him, your fingertips teasing his hole and making his cock twitch.

"Lay back for me, sweet pea" you spoke sweetly, placing your free hand on his stomach. urging him onto his back so you could scoot closer, your thighs positioned under his, unable to resist biting your lip at the difference in size, your larger, plush thighs looking almost double the size of his.

The sound of spencer whining pulled you from your train of thought, reminding you of what you were supposed to be doing. "Sorry, love, just look so cute," your compliment made Spencer turn his cheek to you, making a fruitless attempt at hiding the almost giddy expression on his face, which quickly contorted into an expression of surprise as you eased your middle finger into him, slow and steady as not to overwhelm him on his first time.

"M-Mommy!" he mewled, clenching around your finger as you pushed it in all the way. You remained unmoving, just getting him used to the intrusion. "Shh baby shh, relax for mommy, you've got to relax" you soothed, rubbing your free hand up and down his waist, the combination of your soft touch and the feeling of you inside him making his cock twitch, a sizeable puddle of cum on his pelvis from how needy he was, his tip almost constantly leaking.

Spencer took a heavy breath, shifting around slightly to get comfortable, your finger pushing deeper into him as he did and making him let out a sharp gasp, his hand flying to grip yours that rested on his waist. "That's it, baby, good boy," you praised softly as you slowly started thrusting your finger in and out of him, watching his facial expressions closely for any sign of discomfort.

"You okay, sweet pea?" you asked, making sure to check in on him as much as possible as your movements sped up, beginning to curl your finger into him in time with your thrusts, the sensation making Spencer lightheaded, unable to even muster up the words, instead just nodding eagerly, which you let slide for now.

"You think you can take another, baby?" You were confident that he could, by the way his muscles had relaxed, your digit sliding in and out of him with ease, but you still wanted to make sure he was comfortable and prepared for the intrusion.

Spencer nodded keenly, his breathing heavy as he laid back on your sheets, his hand in yours, and his head tipped back. "Words, baby boy, you need to hear it." In all honesty, you didn't really need him to say it, but selfishly, you wanted him to.

"Yes, m-more, mommy," he gasped as you continued to thrust your finger gently before pressing the tip of your index finger to his entrance, slowly pushing it in along with your middle finger, the extra stretch making Spencer buck his hips towards you, accidentally pushing your fingers in all the way, a loud moan falling from his lips involuntarily when your fingertips prodded his sweet spot, the sensation like nothing he'd ever felt before.

"Mommy! I-I-" Spencer couldn't even fathom what he was trying to say, but you understood, squeezing his waist reassuringly. "I know, baby, such a good boy for mommy; you want more?" You already knew the answer to your question, but the idea of having your innocent baby boy beg you to finger-fuck him made your head swim.

"P-Please mommy! n-need it," Spencer whimpered, rolling his hips towards you again, effectively fucking himself onto your fingers, and you couldn't help but moan quietly at the sight. "Seems like you're doing a pretty good job yourself, baby," you teased, making Spencer whine, slightly out of embarrassment that he was so desperate already but also because he wanted you to move.

"Okay, okay, sweet pea, stay still for me," you spoke softly before sliding your fingers out of him almost completely and thrusting them back in, hitting that perfect spot dead on, Spencer letting out a yelp of pleasure as his back arched and his thighs threatened to close, your free hand moving to pin his thigh down.

You watched in perverted fascination as Spencer's cock twitched with each thrust of your fingers, precum dribbling down his shaft and pooling at the base. "Feel good, baby?" you asked almost teasingly, already knowing the answer.

"Y-Yes! Feel s-so good, mommy! 'm gonna-" Spencer cut himself off with a loud whine, his back arching and thighs trembling as he clenched around your fingers, indicating that he was about to cum.

"No, you're not," you said flatly as you abruptly pulled your fingers out of him. Spencer immediately let out a pathetic cry as he raised his head to look at you with big, wet eyes. "P-Please! I was- I was good, m-mommy p-please, wanna c-cum, please!'' Spencer begged desperately, tears welling in his eyes as he watched you completely pull away from him, moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

"Be patient, sweet pea, mommy is gonna make you cum, don't worry," you said in a sultry tone, looking at him through hooded eyes as you slowly pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your breasts to him, and watching as his eyes fixed on them, his cock twitching in anticipation as you hooked your fingers into your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down in one.

Spencer swallowed thickly as he watched you secure the strap around your legs and waist, making sure that it wasn't going anywhere before you looked up. Spencer didn't even notice, his eyes trained on the fake cock as he sat with his legs still spread, leaning back on his hands with his glasses crooked on his face.

"God, you're so fucking pretty, baby, y'know that?" You spoke breathlessly, moving to climb back onto the bed with him, smiling at the way he whined and turning his face away in an attempt to hide his flushed cheeks. Spencer was never good at accepting compliments, always blushing at the slightest praise and turning away from you, which only made you compliment him and praise him more, loving to see the effect you had on him.

"You still want this, baby?" you asked softly, situating yourself between his open legs and cupping his cheek to tilt his face to you, a gentle smile on your lips as he looked back at you with pleading eyes. "Yes," he almost whispered, averting his eyes from yours.

"Yes, what?" You reminded him, quirking a brow and smirking slightly as you moved to fetch the bottle of lube from where you'd left it. "Yes, please, mommy," he corrected himself, flushing all the way down to his chest as he watched you pour a copious amount of lube onto your strap, biting down on his lip to stop himself from moaning at the sight of you spreading it from tip to base.

Spencer watched you look around for a moment for something to wipe your hand on, brows furrowed until an expression of realisation crossed your face and you absentmindedly reached out to take his cock into your hand, stroking him a few times with your completely slick hand, the feeling making him gasp and whimper before you pulled your hand away, smiling sweetly, "so useful, baby," you teased, making Spencer pout dramatically, feigning annoyance at you practically using him as a washcloth.

"No fair," he huffed, brows pulled together, and bottom lip jutted out in some attempt to look mad, which only made you giggle at him, making him frown harder. "Stick to looking pretty; it's what you're good at," you snorted, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him back, Spencer complying immediately, entirely pliant to your touch.

"Relax for me, sweet pea; it might hurt a little bit, okay?" Your tone was smooth and soft as you spoke, moving your hand to hold his hip and stroking your thumb over his protruding bone, holding back from commenting on how skinny he is.

"Mhm, 'm ready, mommy," he said breathlessly, swallowing thickly as he watched you shift closer to him, pressing your thighs to the backs of his and taking the base of your strap into your hand, guiding it towards his waiting entrance until the tip was pressed to him. Spencer gasped quietly and nodded, knowing you were waiting for his go-ahead before slowly pushing the tip into him, your eyes fixed on his expressions.

"O-Oh m-mommy!" He mewled, his hands gripping the sheets at his sides, his eyes squeezed shut, and his brows furrowed as you gradually pushed further and further into him, the stretch making him pant and gasp.

"Doing so good, baby, so good for mommy," you praised reassuringly as you bottomed out inside him, the sight of his face contorted in discomfort making you worry. "Am I hurting you, sweet pea? We can stop if it's too painful." You reminded him that he didn't have to continue just to please you, but he didn't want to stop, shaking his head quickly as he breathed heavily.

"N-No! Just so- s-so full," he gasped, his voice high-pitched and whiny, his words making your stomach flip, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, forcing yourself not to brutally fuck him until he couldn't talk.

"Tell me when you're ready, baby," you soothed, Spencer nodding as you placed your hands on his inner thighs, squeezing lightly before running them slowly up to grip the backs of his knees and tugging him closer to you, the movement making your cock push impossibly deeper, a quiet cry spilling from his lips as his legs tensed, stretching out behind you.

"P-Please mommy! N-Need it," Spencer whimpered, rolling his hips towards you to show you what he needed. The sight of him fucking himself onto your strap made you clench around nothing before you adjusted yourself, placing your hands on his thighs and pulling back slowly, stilling for a moment before pushing back in.

You started off slow so as not to overwhelm him too much, setting a gentle and steady pace as you fucked him rhythmically, caressing his thighs as you did, whispering gentle praises to him to reassure and remind him that he was doing well.

"M-More, mommy, w-want more." Spencer suddenly whimpered, his voice just above a whisper, barely loud enough for you to hear him, but you definitely did, and you were in no position to deny him. How could you?

"So good, sweet pea, telling mommy what you want," you praised softly, knowing he struggled with voicing what he wanted, your heart swelling with pride as you squeezed the soft flesh of his thighs, your pace picking up and making him let out an abrupt moan, louder than the other sounds he'd made, his cheeks flushing once again at the sound of himself before he pressed his lips together to keep himself quiet.

"No, no, baby, let mommy hear you," you breathed, squeezing his thighs again as your gaze fixed on his face, watching as he let his jaw fall slack as you continued to fuck him at a steady pace, smiling to yourself as he let himself let go, moaning and whimpering wantonly.

"That's it, baby, so good," you praised softly as you stroked your hands up his thighs to his hips, taking a hold of them and pausing your thrusts, gently moving to be kneeling rather than leaning back on your heels. The adjustment made him let out a whine that turned into a harsh gasp as the new angle had you pushing deeper into him.

You wordlessly started thrusting again, the new angle catching Spencer off guard as the tip of your strap practically hammered into his sweet spot, his mind going completely blank as the sensation overwhelmed him like nothing he'd felt before, letting out the most lewd, sweet sounds you'd ever heard him make, a mixture of incoherent pleas, whimpers, and choked moans.

"Gonna cum, baby boy?" you asked, having a pretty big hunch that he was by the way his cock bounced against his stomach, his back arching upward.

Spencer couldn't even fathom a reply to you, not even in his head. He heard the words and understood them, but all he could do was nod quickly, gripping the sheets at his sides as his chest heaved.

You watched as tears streamed down his pink cheeks, needy sobs falling from his parted lips along with sharp gasps and words you couldn't make sense of, not even sure that he knew what he was trying to say.

"Mommy!" was the only word that he finally choked out that was comprehensible, his stomach tensing and back arching just that little bit more as he released all over himself, thick white spurts of cum coating his stomach and up to his chest as he trembled and squirmed under you.

"Oh, sweet thing, you made such a mess of yourself," you cooed as you took in his state while still thrusting into him, but at a slower and gentler pace, revelling in the little sounds he made with each one, something like a meek yelp as his body twitched.

"N-No! Please, please" he whined when you stilled completely and started to pull out of him, his desperate protest making you widen your eyes and halt your movements.

"Please what? Baby, what do you want?" You asked softly, a worried undertone to your voice in case you were hurting him somehow, watching his features contort into displeasure, his lip jutting out.

"More, w-want more, mommy," he whined, his voice high-pitched and breathy as he let his thighs close around you, practically locking you in as he lay limp under you, completely fucked out but begging for more.

"Anything for you, sweet boy," you smiled as you pushed back in the mere inch he allowed you to pull out, watching him fall into a completely blissed-out, submissive state as you fucked him deep and slow, drinking up every little sound he made.

You couldn't resist reaching out to wrap your hand around his neglected cock, beginning to stroke his length in time with your thrusts. The added stimulation making Spencer choke out a sob as he began to tremble again, evidently overstimulated, but he didn't show any signs of wanting you to stop, so you didn't.

"Doing so, so good, baby, doing so well, so proud of you," you praised, telling no word of a lie. For the first time, he was doing so well, better than most would, and it made your heart swell.

Spencer's sounds quickly grew in volume until he was once again whimpering and moaning wantonly, the overstimulation making him unable to hold back, his mind clouded with nothing but lust and how good your touch felt on his cock and how full he felt as you fucked him, the mixture of everything making his second orgasm approach quickly.

"G-gonna-" he choked out, the words dying in his throat, but it was enough for you to understand him, shifting your hand to focus more on his tip, tightening your hold just slightly as he gasped and writhed under you, tears covering over the previous tear stains on his cheeks as his thighs clamped around your waist.

Spencer went completely silent as his jaw dropped open and his eyes screwed shut as he came hard, spilling over your hand and his stomach again as his hips rutted into your fist, choking out the most delicious whimpers and sobs as his whole body began shaking and trembling.

You released your hold on his length once he started whimpering and pulling away from you, showing that he'd had enough without having to say it, so you just let your hand rest on his hip again, your thumbs stroking over them gently as he breathed heavily, clearly exhausted.

"Gonna pull out, baby, okay? Keep still for me," you said softly, warning him so your movements wouldn't startle him. You waited for him to give you a tired nod before you slowly started pulling out of him, making sure to be extra careful not to hurt him.

Spencer winced slightly, but ultimately your strap slipped out of him easily, and he finally sank completely into the sheets, eyes closed and body limp. You gently got up from the bed, undoing the strap before pulling your pants and underwear back on, followed by your shirt.

You quietly left the room to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water and leaving your strap by the sink to clean later before making your way back to your shared bedroom, smiling at the sight of Spencer splayed out on your bed, completely fucked out.

"Mommy's gonna clean you up, okay?" You practically whispered, feeling like if you were too loud it might startle him. Spencer simply nodded in response as you climbed back onto the bed with him and situated yourself between his still-spread thighs, gently and softly cleaning the drying cum from his stomach and chest, being extra careful when cleaning his now soft length, and apologising quietly when he winced slightly.

"All done, no more, sweet pea," you reassured him as you threw the washcloth in the general direction of the laundry basket.

"You want mommy to get you something to wear? some water?" You asked, worried he might be a little cold laying there completely bare, save for those cute mismatched socks, of course.

"Yes, please, both," he rasped, his voice spent from all that noise he was making, and you couldn't help but feel bad even if it wasn't your fault.

"Okay, baby," you smiled before getting up from the bed to make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, picking a decently large one just to be sure, and quickly making your way back, using your free hand to fetch a very similar pair of pyjama pants to what you were wearing.

You set the glass down on the bedside table before turning to him. "Can you sit up for me, sweet pea?" you asked softly, Spencer's eyes fluttering open before he nodded, shifting his weight onto his hands as he sat up, groggily swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Good boy, now lift your feet for me," you encouraged Spencer, following your every instruction as you slid the soft material over his legs, lifting himself just enough so you could pull them over his probably tender ass.

"That's it; now sip this for me; don't drink too fast, okay?" You instructed softly, handing the glass to him but making sure to keep a good hold of it until you were sure he wouldn't drop it, his hand shaking slightly as he brought it to his lips, taking small mouthfuls like you'd told him to.

Spencer shakily handed the glass back to you when he was finished, looking up at you with heavy eyes as you placed it back down, a pout forming on his lips as he looked at you.

"What is it, baby?" You cooed, shifting closer to him to rest your hand on his head, stroking his hair softly as he whined, wordlessly reaching out for you, his arms wrapping around your hips and pulling you into him so he could rest his cheek on your stomach, nuzzling his face into you.

"Oh, sweet pea, you want mommy to cuddle with you?" You asked sweetly. The way Spencer nodded quickly making you smile wide as he let you go so you could climb onto the bed with him, shifting onto the opposite side from him. As soon as your back was meeting the sheets, he was practically on top of you, his head nuzzled into your chest, and his leg swung over you as he lay half on top of you with his arm around your waist.

"You did so well, baby, always such a good boy for mommy," you murmured as you felt yourself getting tired too, letting your fingers card through his hair as you felt him smile against you at the praise.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, and you knew you wouldn't be long after him, but you hated when he slept in his glasses, so you ever so carefully manoeuvred his face so you could gently grab the bridge or his glasses between your thumb and finger and slowly slide them off his face, sighing in relief when he didn't stir before folding them and placing them on your nightstand.

"Night, sweet pea," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair like you do every single night before letting your eyes fall closed.

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retroellie · 10 months ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet w/ Spencer Reid

Summary: NSFW alphabet w/ spenice poo

A/N: Ovbiosuly i have to introduce a new character with an NSFW alphabet... it's become my thing yall I know. Also, i wanted this one to be like spencer in the earlier seasons because I'm a whore for him then.

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM, pegging, loss of virginity, Sub!Spencer Reid

Word count: 3.8K

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Dr Spencer Reid is a sweetheart and we all know this, so obviously he's going to be the sweetest boy after. The first couple of times y'all have sex, he's kind of awkward afterward... like he feels weird about the fact he was just inside of you and now he has to talk to you like nothing happened. Eventually, he warms up to it and gets better at taking care of you. Now he always makes sure he has a soft rag and some water in his nightstand so when you stay over he doesn't have to get up. To be completely honest though, he's the one who needs the aftercare...

B=body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

He likes your boobs, like really likes your boobs. He likes them because they're just so versatile, you know? Like he can lay his head on them while you read to him, he can stick his dick in between them, he can suck on them... I mean, what more can this boy need?!?!? Mostly he likes how he can still see them when you guys are in public, maybe not in their entirety but he loves when you wear low-cut shirts. You do it on purpose sometimes, just to see him squirm in his seat while trying to go over statistics on a case. But overall, Spencer just really likes your body. It's just one of those things that Spencer doesn't have to think about or understand, it was just so easy to fall in love with it.

Spencer doesn't really like his body, I feel like he's a very insecure person. He thinks he's too scrawny, too thin, and extremely out of shape. You try to tell him that he's perfect but he can't get over his insecurities. If he did have to choose, it would be his mouth, if he's good for anything... it's for talking and giving mind-blowing head.

C=Cum (anything to do with cum)

Spencer has the worst pull-out game ever, I mean seriously. It's mostly because he just loves cumming with you. The way he'll be deep inside you, literally inside your guts... then he just releases it all into you and watches as your face controls into pure pleasure. He loses all control when you cums, his vision goes white and the only thing he can think of is how pretty you look on his cock.

You had to go on birth control because you couldn't deny Spencer Reid of his favorite thing to do, plus he went on this rant about how birth control is better than condoms because condoms can break blah blah blah. You knew it was simply because he wanted to cum inside you... and it felt way better without a condom.

D=dirty secret

Spencer Reid loves to research things alright... so obviously he has watched massive amounts of porn for research purposes. At first, he tried to tell himself it was for profiling purposes, he needed to know what every kink was so he was able to apply it when needed... well, then it turned into more of his own interest. He wanted to know what he liked, especially when he met you. I mean he's watched almost everything, BDSM, humiliation, sadism, choking, slapping, even pissing. A lot of those things he found he didn't enjoy, but he's honestly found some stuff that makes his face heat up at the thought of it. What's even weirder about this is that Spencer has never jacked off to any of it, to him... it is completely for research.

E=experience (How experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You were his first and he hopes you are his last :). He hasn't even really kissed anyone before you. However, as said above, Spencer has done a lot of research so he definitely knows what he's doing. But porn is completely different than the real thing so he was confused that it didn't go how he expected it to go. What's really nice about Spencer is that he has an eidetic memory, so if something makes your toes curl once... he can do it over and over and over again the exact same way which honestly makes him seem so much more experienced than he actually is.

F=Favorite position

He loves it when you ride him. Not only does he get the perfect view of your boobs and your face, but he loves letting you take control. I feel like Spencer is a bottom so he enjoys the feeling of you towering over him, taking everything you need, and controlling if he gets to cum or not.

He also loves taking you from the back but not in the way you would think. He likes being able to lean against something and you do all the work, like you thrust yourself back on him. He likes that so when you get too tried or frustrated, he can help you fuck yourself on him. Also, I feel like Spencer would like to be experimental with positions, especially since he knows almost all of them from his extensive research. So he tries to switch it up and try new positions every once in a while.

G= Goofy (Are they serious at the moment or are they humorous?)

Everything spencer does is goofy as fuck, so sex is not a serious thing for yall. You can't do anything without spencer shooting out some statistics which makes you laugh, cause his dick could be down your throat and he'd talk about how "43% percent of women say they like giving oral more than receiving it." Sometimes you have to show his face between your own legs to get him to shut up. In short, spencer has to be serious all day at the BAU, so coming home and having to seriously fuck you is just not something he wants to do. He's gonna have some fun with it.

H= Hair (How groomed are they down there?)

Spencer is a bit of a germaphobe, he doesn't like to shake people's hands for god sake. He is definitely either clean-shaven or very well-groomed. He makes sure to clean his junk thoroughly, again with the whole bacteria and germ blah blah... You get it, he just feels more clean if he's groomed well down there.

As for you, I feel like he's gonna care if you're shaved down there or not. I mean he's obviously still going to eat your pussy even if you haven't shaved, but he does prefer you to be groomed down there. Again it's a germaphobe thing for him, but like I said... it's not the thing that determines if he'll fuck you or not.

I=Intimacy

This boy is touch starved as fuck. He usually doesn't like touch, he's scared of it if I'm being honest. So when you came along and touched him in every way possible... he craves it now. He wants to be close to you at all times when he's reading, on a case, or showering. He wants to be touching you in some way. Sex is intimate as well, especially since you were his first time. Losing his virginity was a huge thing for him, so the intimate part was important to him.

He loves the cringey romance things, I mean like buying you flowers or going on expensive dinners every anniversary or birthday. He only ever got his romance beliefs from old romance books and cheesy romance movies. He sure did know how to make you feel like a princess.

J= Jack off (Masturbation headcanons)

Spencer never really masturbated much before he met you, he never really felt that way either. Like being horny was something that he never felt, never got hard, or had a wet dream. Even while doing his research, he never popped a boner... not even once! That was until he met you, now a bus could go by and he is stiff. He can only jack off to the thought of you though, he only needs his mind and his hand to get him off when you aren't there.

I also think he likes to watch you masturbate, he's a little creep like that. Obviously, you'd know he was there, but he likes for you to pretend he's not there. He loves watching you tease yourself, moaning his name while he sits in a chair in the corner of the room. It gives him a small power rush, knowing he's getting you off without even touching you.

K= Kinks

Alright, he has quite a bit... he's a little dirty dog once you get him going. He definitely has a mommy kink definitely, I mean he has mommy issues so it is inevitable for the word mommy to slip out during sex. He says shit like "You make me feel so good mommy..." or "Can I cum mommy?" In his most pathetic voice as he whimpers so loud.

He's a kinky little fucker, to name a few...Prasing, bondage, role-playing, orgasm control, Voyeurism, humiliation. The list goes on and on. He was so embarrassed to bring them up to you starting off, he felt wrong for liking these things. You basically had to fuck it out of him but when he did, he felt so comfortable with you. Sex gets rough and a bit chaotic, but it was for you guys and you guys only so it didn't really matter. As long as you two were both comfortable and enjoying it, it didn't really matter.

L= Location (favorite place to do it)

This is where Spencer Reid lacks alright. He likes to be in his own bed when doing it, I mean he can't really afford to be too adventurous in this area. He's an FBI agent... he can't get caught doing it anywhere else. That's not to say y'all haven't done it in other places, the hotels he stays at on cases have been a regular thing for you guys, but he just doesn't feel safe doing it anywhere else but his own home.

M= Motivation (What turns them on?)

Like I said earlier, he never really got turned on before you. He always thought there was something wrong with him when it came to sex, but girl... you opened a floodgate to him. What turns him on the most is when he thinks of you. Especially if he sees something, let's say he sees a desk... he can't help but imagine bending you over it. It's just you, when you creep up on his mind randomly... he turns into putty.

He also gets so flustered and turned up to the max when you humiliate him in public, like teasing him in front of the team. He gets so sexually frustrated, hearing you joke about him in front of Morgan or teasing him with Garcia about how smart he is... especially calling him "pretty boy"... just gets him going.

N= NO (Something they wouldn’t do/ turn offs)

As an agent of the BAU, constantly around murder and gore and pure violence... Spencer is really picky about violence in the bedroom. He wants sex to be light and fun, not dark. He doesn't mind degrading or hitting... but he wants to keep it at a minimum. I mean he sees it all day, every day. So he'd just rather keep it upbeat in the bedroom, he'd much rather praise you than anything else.

That is a gray area for him, however there is something that he will never do. He hates bodily fluids, so spit and blood... etc. is just off the table for him. Not only is he around it all day, but he doesn't like the germs and bacteria it comes with.

O= Oral (Giving or receiving, skill etc.)

This man could go down on you for hours, I mean... hours. Like I feel like this man jumps up and down when you let him eat you out. This man will attempt to tease you but he gets so eager when he eats your pussy, so he always ends up letting you cum the second your orgasm comes. His favorite after-work activity is to come to the hotel or your shared apartment, pull your panties down, and eat you out like a hungry man. Not to get all psychological (I'm telling y'all I have been watching too much criminal minds lately) but I feel like it's definitely a control thing. I mean his entire life has been out of his control, his entire career is about fighting for control... so the only time he feels somewhat in control is when he goes down on you.

Spencer Reid obviously enjoys receiving as well, I mean what man doesn't like getting some head? He finds you so pretty on your knees, trying desperately to get him off which doesn't take too long for him when you're like this. Spencer just prefers giving simply because he wants to make you feel good, I mean he so desperately wants to make you feel good. Plus he's really good at it, I mean really good...

P= pace (are they fast or rough? slow or sensual?)

As said before, Spencer is eager. He is extremely fast with it, I mean to the point you have to tell him to slow down sometimes because he's going crazy. "Slow down Spence.." You moan into the pillows as your face down, ass up. "Sorry... it... you... fuck... you just feel so good" He stutters out, probably the only time spencer reid gets twisted up with his words is when he fucks you. You would have to be the one to go slow with it, you want him to feel the love in the act. You want him to understand sex doesn't have to be a scientific act, it isn't just for procreation or for the orgasm... it can be an act of love.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies)

He probably loves them more than eating you out, actually.. I wouldn't go that far. It's a close second to it. He's a busy man, always on a case or trying to finish a book. They are especially good when y'all are traveling for cases like y'all only have 8 minutes before you have to get back to work... he can make you both cum 3 times in 4. He loves long drawn-out ones too, he likes making you feel good for hours but they are rare occurrences simply because he's always getting called into the office. So honestly quickies are how y'all survive.

R= Risk (Are they okay with experimenting? do they take risks?)

He loves experimenting! Like I said before, he has done his research and he probably made a list of things he would like to try with you. He had to get comfortable first to be able to experiment, it was a long process of breaking Dr. Spencer Reid out of his shell. But now it feels like you guys are always trying new things, I mean like every time you guys have sex... Spencer asks if he can do something new to you.

As for risks, he is not for risks. If it genuinely is risky, causing harm to either one of you or something that will cause Morgan to tease him every day for?? It's off the table like I said before... His entire job is about risks, he just wants your guy's sex life to be healthy and normal.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Spencer can go all night. Let's be honest, it's how he stays fit. Like I said, Spencer gets horny quickly so after every orgasm he has... he's already hard again. I feel like the most rounds y'all have gone is like 8 or 9, it was all in the course of 3 hours too. Again it's a rare occurrence for you guys to have long drawn-out sessions, it mostly happens when spencer has the day off or after a case and y'all spend the day in the city the case was in. When days like this do come, spencer goes crazy and full-on out. He'll light the candles, he'll have a tub of lube, he'll have bottles of water for you guys because he knows y'all will need lots of water after.

I feel like Spencer doesn't last very long, maybe 5 minutes but like I said... he gets hard really fast and he'll edge himself over and over again just so he can make you feel good. I feel like you also help him build up his tolerance, so he slowly starts to last longer and longer. When y'all first started having sex, he couldn't last over 2 minutes... let's be honest now y'all.

T= Toys (do they have toys and who do they use them on?)

ooooh, this is a fun one because spencer reid loves experimenting, so toys are definitely something he likes. He's really into vibrators, especially when you let him watch you masturbate... he just loves watching you tease yourself with it. However, when you use vibrators on him... makes him weak in the knees, for obvious reasons but also because of the sensation of the vibrating and then your hands or pussy?!? He can't help but cum every single time without fail.

Alright y'all I know, spencer reid likes to be pegged. He went completely feral when you bought it for the first time, he begged you to destroy him with the strap. He is a bottom, he likes to be dominated... It goes without saying that he likes to be pegged. You do this thing though, where you're taking him from the back and you use a vibrator to hold his cock. You have him screaming with that move you do.

As for other toys, I feel like he has a pair of handcuffs or bondage toys laying around.

U= Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He doesn't do much teasing but you do, you tease him so much that he is begging to be fucked by the time you guys are alone. He's used to being teased by literally everyone in his life, but something about your teasing... no matter if sexual or not, never fails to make him all flustered.

His teasing isn't really teasing, to him it is but every time he tries teasing you, you end up getting so confused. He'd be like, "You look good in that shirt, it would look way better off though... You know statistically, women in shirts...". Just a very Reid thing to do. You always feed on his teasing though, you want to make him feel good about himself so you just smile and nod.

V= Volume (How loud are they?)

This mf is loud as fuck. Sometimes you have to push his face into the pillows or make him bite down on your panties because he's just so loud. He doesn't moan either, he whimpers and whines. There's a time when you love making him whimper, you encourage it actually. You love seeing his red, flustered face as he whines for you to let him cum. Then there are times, like in hotels, that you have to keep him quiet. Unfortunately, Spencer Reid doesn't do quiet. You shoving your wet panties in his mouth is a regular thing in those times, he can't complain because he loves the taste.

He is also very vocal, he loves praising and being praised. He will whimper out "Fuck... make me feel good.." or "wanna cum in you.." You always cave into his wants, I mean his little whimpers are so cute how can you not?

W- Wild card (Random headcanons)

We all know that spencer reid loves books and statistics, so he will definitely multitask when fucking you. He loves when he's at his desk at home and you come in, wearing nothing but one of his sweaters. You'll crawl down on your knees and suck him off under the desk. You force him to do work as you make him cum, over and over and over. He also likes it when you cockwarm him, asking him questions about the case and if he messes up or stutters... you snap your hips down and make him whine. One time, when you were riding him in his office chair... he was reading a book, like an old literature book. "Are you reading right now?" You asked him, confused because like what? and he replied. "yeah... it's okay, you can keep going. I'll be done in a minute." He smiled so innocently, you wanted to fuck him harder after that.

Also, he uses his statistics to make you feel good, he read in a college textbook about female anatomy that girls like their nipples played with during sex so he tried it on you. You had no idea you liked that until Spencer Reid started pinching them. He'll also tell you the statistics while doing it, which I think is kinda funny. "Statistically, 76% of women have never stimulated they're g-spot," He says as he thrusts up, hitting yours perfectly.

X= X-ray (What’s going on in their pants)

Spencer Reid is a very scrawny and skinny man, so I know he is packing. He's probably a little over average, not too much but enough to make you nervous if you'll be able to take it all. He has a very pretty dick too, very well-groomed and very clean. He doesn't have much girth too, but honestly, size doesn't matter.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

Very high sex drive, that's why quickies are so important to him. He didn't really understand Morgan's obsession with women at first until he actually had sex... now he always wants to be inside of you. He begs a lot too, if he's horny... all he will do is beg and plead for you to touch him. "Spencer we just got here, settle down." You scold him as he tries to get you to the private bathroom. "Please y/n... you look so pretty in your dress and... it's making my stomach hurt." Eventually, spencers whining gets you all hot and heavy, and you end up fucking him in the bathroom.

Z= ZZZ (How quick do they fall asleep after?)

Spencer passes out after his balls are empty and he is worn out from everything. Like I guess anyone would be exhausted after 7 to 9 rounds of desperately trying to get off. Not only but he has a very mentally and physically exhausting job, so he's out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #matthew gray gubler

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 1 year ago

Text

Testing One, Two, Three (S.R. Smut +18)

Summary: (Spencer Reid x Fem Reader) Spencer comes home, after a long week of being away, with a bag full of (sexy) surprises.

Content Warnings: Sex toy use, praise kink, dirty talk, mutual self pleasure, coming undone, overstimulation, very light submissive (Reader) dominant (Spencer) dynamics, talk of anal sex & pegging

Word Count: 3.3K

Note: This is one that I have had saved in my drafts for a very long time! And I just had the inspiration to finish it a couple days ago.

Testing One, Two, Three

It wasn’t strange for Spencer to make trips to the grocery store, to the used bookstore, or the pharmacy before making his way back to Y/N’s storybook Tudor home after work.

This evening proved to be not unlike the others. Spencer, driving his powder blue Volvo pulls into Y/N’s driveway. She watches from the windows as he takes out his satchel, his overnight bag, and other large black shopping bags. It didn’t look like it was from the grocery store and their local bookstore didn’t give customers plastic bags. Curious, Y/N unlocks the door for Spencer, deciding to meet him at her front stoop instead of in the kitchen or the hallway like normal.

“Hey there, love,” Spencer says, the nickname brushing off his lips with ease. He looks tired and worn down. Y/N thinks that traveling through two different time zones and not getting enough sleep is a way to do that to a person, but she decides she’ll keep that to herself and just usher Spencer to bed earlier tonight.

“Oh, Spence. I really missed you,” she confesses, breathing in his familiar scent. It's a little different. He smells like cheap hotel shampoo and stale coffee, not like his usual minty and green tea body wash and expensive coffee beans.

Spencer sighs into her neck, swaying slightly as he holds Y/N in his arms on her front stoop. His bags, even the mysterious black on, lay neglected on the ground by their feet.

“I know, Y/N. I know, sweetheart,” he reassures, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture. “I got you something. Well, really it’s for us. But for you, mostly I suppose,”

“You’re acting clingy and squirrely,” she assesses, leaning back to look at Spencer’s unreadable face. He simply shrugs, as if to say you’ll find out when you find out.

“I need caffeine,” Spencer remarks, as he insists on carrying all the bags into the house by himself, “And something comfy to wear. I’ve been in this shirt for the last two days. There was a break in the case 41 hours in and we couldn’t break for the hotel. It was too out of the way,”

“Oh my poor boy,” Y/N exclaims, helping Spencer shed his cardigan and standing with him as he takes his shoes off, “What about a nice hot shower and then some leftovers. I made chickpea curry last night. We have leftover rice and garlic naan, too,” she offers.

Spencer, offering his thanks, grabs at his tie. His shoulders tense with exhaustion and something unreadable. He’s not usually mysterious. Usually, Spencer’s nothing but an open book.

“You alright?” Y/N asks, doling out the portion of chickpeas and rice on the delicately decorated plates she received for her 25th birthday.

“Fine,” Spencer says, clipped and detached.

So unlike him.

“Hmm. Well how was work? Anything interesting happen?” Y/N asks, attempting to spark conversation with her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a solid five months; enough time for whatever it was to have run its course. If Y/N didn’t know any better than she should expect herself to be circling the drain tonight along with dishes that would certainly be neglected for a pint of Java Chip.

“Fine,” Spencer says, nodding thanks for the plate of food. He shovels in a couple bites, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

So unlike him.

Usually, Spencer would be clamoring to talk to her. It wasn’t too long ago that they spent long nights sharing a bottle of red and talking about everything from books to movies to the meaning of life.

“Alright, Spencer. Cut the crap. Are you breaking up with me? Because if you are–?”

Shock washes over Spencer’s face. And he doesn’t wear it well. He does a spit take and it’s nearly as foolish as it looks like in movies. Spencer’s eyes grow about three sizes bigger.

“What? Break up with you? God, no,” he stammers, the sentiment clear although his efforts lacked clarity.

“Okay.” Y/N says, tossing Spencer a napkin to mop up his mess of curry and water. “Good to know. But why are you acting so….squirrely?”

Shifting in his seat, Spencer attempts to remain calm. His eyes, a honey brown with a cool brown rim, flit to the mysterious bag he brought in from his car. It was as if she could hear the whirring of the gears clicking into place. She follows his gaze to the bag.

“You bought something. Something that you’re either nervous about or embarrassed? So it can’t be books. And it’s not something innocuous like a throw blanket or pie dish. And judging by your breathing growing heavy, it’s something….salacious.”

Spencer’s thin upper lip twitches with delight. He hums, neither confirming nor denying her claims. His eyes flicker with playfulness, a contrast to moments ago when Spencer’s eyes flooded with fear and shock.

“You’re smart.” Spencer concludes, smiling with knives. He stands to presumably grab the black bag that has caused so much intrigue. “Should have been a profiler with a mind like yours.”

“I’ll stick to what I know.” Y/N tells him, her interest in the bag only growing

when Spencer places it in front of her on the table. “Let me guess, we’re at the stage in our relationship where you can buy me sexy underwear without it looking like you’re sleaze,”

Chortling, Spencer blushes profusely. His feeble attempts at hiding the bag's contents fail miserably as they only pique Y/N’s interest. His eyes are wide with wonder and anticipation in the kitchen light.

“It’s not lingerie.”

“Alright, well whatever it is, Spencer I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re being so jumpy, it’s making me think you’ve got some really kinky sex toy in here,” she says, reaching her hand into the bag to finally examine its contents. She’s good at reading faces. From the old man who reads French Literature on the Metro to the young barista at the local coffee shop, Y/N, like even Spencer admitted, is pretty well versed at reading people. Which is why, for a split second she reads pure terror in Spencer’s eyes.

“Oh shit,” she says, turning the box in her hand and reading the label. “You bought me a wand?” Her voice goes up an octave as if she’s just realizing what she’s holding in her hands.

Spencer, now thoroughly, embarrassed, covers his face with his hand. His cheeks are tinged a lovely pink and he peeks through his fingers, apparently still eager. “Will you kill me if I say that’s not the only thing in there?”

“Spencer Reid!” she shouts, slapping his hands on the table with glee and excitement. It was the very thought of Spencer Reid in a sex shop that sent both shivers down her spine, like an electric shock and shock waves of laughter through her system. “You went into a sex shop.”

“Yes, Y/N,” Spencer contends, his tone playful enough, “But please continue your teasing. We’ll see how cocky you’ll be when you’re on the receiving end of 5000 RPMS. And that’s the lowest setting,”

“Is that a threat?” Y/N asks, leaning in closer to Spencer. Her cleavage is eye level to Spencer’s line of vision. His eyes dart there to the bag and back to her eyes.

He shakes his head. “A promise. Continue,” Spencer instructs, pointing towards the bag. She listens, fishing her hand in the large bag.

“That’s a clitoral stimulator.” Spencer explains, “The website I got recommendations from says that it simulates oral sex. It has eleven settings,” he continues, watching as Y/N’s eyes grow big at the thought of the toy in her hands.

“Hmm, eleven?” she muses, putting it down next to the menacing looking hitachi wand.

“Another one? Spencer, how much money did you spend on toys?” she says aghast as she takes out yet another item from the bag.

“It’s a Lush vibrator.” Spencer explains, waving off Y/N’s concerns for his wallet. “It’s actually connected to my phone. That means I can control it, even when we’re apart. Which, considering how much we’re apart, just might come in handy.”

“This must have cost a lot of money.” Y/N speculates, staring at the three presents facing her on the countertop. “You really didn’t have to. You really shouldn’t–”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, her name sounding deadly in his breathy timber, “It’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied. And I thought it would be a little fun to bring in some…reinforcements.”

“That’s certainly more forward thinking than my last boyfriend. He was under the assumption that toys stole his thunder. But between you and me, and like every other woman he slept with, it’s probably because he hardly ever made me finish.”

“Really?” Spencer says, looking shocked. “And he was still insecure about bringing toys into the bedroom?”

Laughing, Y/N tosses her head back in a chortle. There was something endearing about Spencer’s genuine shock.

Spencer, looking half bemused and half proud, shifts in his seat. “So are we going to test them out or what?”

Twenty minutes later, they were both in her bed. Y/N, on her back, with her feet planted firmly on the bed, watches as Spencer studies her carefully. Sweat pools in her cleavage and she grabs the sheets, needing something to grip as yet another wave of pleasure washes over her body. He had already coaxed an orgasm out of her with the clitoral stimulator.

Spencer, fully dressed, holds the wand against her. He has a notebook to her left with small scribbles of notes detailing how fast she’s edged with each different toy. His scribbles, messy and disorganized at best, grow increasingly illegible. Spencer’s creases his brow, a sign of his intense determination, and is fuzzy as Y/N gazes down at him. She watches his look of stoic concentration, something that she finds entirely too attractive. But considering he plans on bringing her to climax time and time again tonight, she’ll give into her flights of fancy.

“Think you like this one.” Spencer comments. He switches the wand to his less dominant, but still skillful hand to make notes on the pad. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face, a sign that he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on.

“It’s really good.” she says, her voice betraying her already limited resolve. Spencer’s fingers lie casually on her thighs, searing marks into her legs that vaporize her skin. When he touches her it’s like her limb liquifies and her skin melts. She wants his fingerprints to sear into her skin, finally becoming part of her.

“Yeah,” Spencer asks, a sarcastic smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “Tell me more, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.”

Spencer’s words are punctuated by the head of the toy rolling against her clit. He never keeps it in one place longer than a couple of seconds, either not wanting to overstimulate her too soon or to keep her on her toes longer for him.

“It feels so…good. Better than it used to. Before I had you,” she stammers, the words clunky in her mouth as she concentrates on Spencer’s deft hand at her core and his warm lips against her neck.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Before you had me to keep you nice and full, you had to use things like this. But I’m gone too often for you. I need to know my sweet girl is taken care of. So we’re going to test all of these toys out tonight. Till you’re drippy little mess, begging for me to finally fuck you.”

Spencer’s sloppy kisses climb the slope of Y/N’s neck. He leaves whisper-wishes into the nooks of her skin, each one filled with promises and love. It’s a stark contrast; the sweet kisses to his hand that holds the vibrator: the bane of her undoing.

“You know Hitachi wands are excellent for clitoral stimulation. This one has only one vibration pattern, but eight different speeds. Now that sounds like a challenge. And one that I’d like to break.”

Y/N’s brow furrows as she gazes at Spencer with a deep concentration. He breathes against her neck, a trail full of wet kisses plotting their revenge against her sensitive skin. Spencer’s fingers hold the wand deftly as he concentrates the sensation against her clit. Y/N’s feet move up the bed, dragging the crocheted blanket with them.

“Holy shit, Spence!” Y/N curses, her breath bated as the wand’s vibrations kick up a couple of levels.

“That’s my girl. You like the fourth setting. Remember that, baby,” Spencer says, his lips curved into a proud smile as Y/N’s hips jut upwards in tandem with the toy, “Just like that, Y/N. I can tell you’re close. Give me another. One’s not enough for my greedy girl. And who am I to deny such a pretty face and a wet pussy. It’s all mine after all.”

She feels the wand leave her clit and venture up to her stomach. Y/N’s muscles react like falling dominos at the sensation. She tenses as the vibrations shoot up and fry her nerves. Spencer licks his lips at the sight of her arousal sticking to her bare torso. He carefully dances the wand up to her nipples, watching with glee as they pebble even further in response to the vibrations.

“One day I’ll give you an orgasm from just playing with these nipples. I’ll lick and kiss and suck on them till you’re dripping and begging for my cock to fill you up.”

“Jesus, Spencer.” Y/N pants, her hips buckling as her climax reached its peak. “Can I come, please? Please let me come again? I need it so fucking bad, baby.” Her tongue peaks out from her lips, wetting the surface as Spencer peered up at her. She grabs his collar to drag him up for a kiss just as she finally teetered off the edge, yet again.

Spencer separates from the kiss, his lips puffy and red from Y/N’s frantic mouth. He smiles, gently caressing her head in a gesture that was entirely too sweet for their current situation. She feels Spencer’s erection in his pants; it had to be almost painful by now.

“What was that two or three?” Y/N asks, a self-satisfied smirk plaguing her face. “I think we might set a record or something.”

“That was two.” Spencer corrects. He takes more notes in his little notebook. “Of at least four or five. Depending on how much you beg later.” He slips off the bed and fishes through the bag. “Now, I think I have an idea for which I’d like to try next.”

A bright pink silicone dildo with a flared based, freshly washed, lays in between them on the bed. Y/N raises her eyes in surprise.

“Most men wouldn’t be too thrilled to have something other than their penis fuck their girlfriends, you know.”

Spencer shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s a lot that we can do with it.” He claims, “Like double penetration or even, uh,” He blushes and stumbles over his next comment, “And pegging.”

Y/N grins as an overwhelming sense of arousal washed over her. “Oh,” she says, skimming her fingers around Spencer’s neck. His skin is ridiculously soft, “we are so tabling that one for later. I would love to see you a mess for me instead.”

Spencer grins. “Fuck, that’s good, Y/N. So good.” He kissed her forehead. “I wanna watch you ride it. Like you would my cock.”

Y/N nods, as Spencer shifts on the bed, allowing for her to assume a crouched position. She looks at Spencer, his eyes laden with lust and love. He sits, legs spread in an attempt to accommodate his hardened erection in the old arm chair. He looks too good to be true, his cheeks are tinged with a blush, the dances that line between innocence and corruption. His notebook is forgotten, as he needs the entirety of his attention focused on the sight before him.

“Good girl.” Spencer mutters, his hands resting on his thighs, but they twitch restlessly. It was as if he needs to physically hold himself back from ravishing Y/N at the sight of her crouched on her bed ready to fuck herself with a dildo her purchased for her. “Lower yourself on the toy. Give yourself an inch into your sweet little cunt.”

His voice is deep, yet soft as he guided her pleasure expertly. She groans as the toy breaches her cunt, the full sensation is welcomed after the last hour of the wand and clit stimulator.

“Don’t you wish it was your cock fucking my cunt, Spencer?” Y/N asks, her right hand wrapped around the flared base of the toy and the other holding herself up. Her abdominal muscles stunned with strain as her body remained in a crouched position, but the promise of release goaded her on. “You’re so hard, baby. I can see it from here. Don’t you want to touch yourself?”

Spencer bites his lip. He nods as his hands undo his belt and his hips lift up enough so he can shimmy his pants and underwear to his knees. He wraps a hand around his cock, hard and glistening with arousal, and rubs upward with a tight fist. Spencer’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he continues to watch Y/N lower herself onto the toy.

“Give yourself another inch, sweetheart.” Spencer instructs as he fucked his fist. He swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Fuck I wish it was your mouth or your pussy on my dick.”

“God, you have the prettiest cock.” Y/N pants, the toy filling her up more and more as she sinks lower onto the base. “But now that we have this toy, maybe you can fuck my ass? I know you’d like that, baby.”

“Dirty girl,” Spencer praises, a smile covering his face as Y/N’s thighs quiver, “Tell me does that toy fill you up nicely? I had to pick out the best one for my girl.”

“Yes, yes,” Y/N answers, her voice rough and raw, “So good….I feel so full.” The pink dildo filled her cunt.

“Good. Good.” Spencer says, his hand moving up and down his cock at a hastened pace. “Show me how you’ll ride it when I’m not here to fuck you, baby. Show me how you’ll fuck that tight cunt.”

Spencer’s words provide the encouragement for Y/N to hoist herself up and down on the dildo. She would've laid flat on her back, a position that would have been easier on her thighs and core, but the angle she’s able to reach makes the suffering all worth it.

“Fuck…so good, Spencer. But I don’t think I can come from just this…it’s not…it’s not enough for me.” Y/N explains. Spencer knows that. He understands the science behind the female orgasm enough to know that many women are unable to reach climax from vaginal penetration only.

“I know, sweet girl. Don’t you worry.” He promises. “Bring your fingers to your clit

and give yourself some nice tight circles.”

She listens. Her fingers draw tight circles around her clit. Y/N bites her lip as she feels her pleasure build and build. “So good. So good.”

“I know, I know. Grind against the heel of your hand. You go wild when I do that, love. Like a little fucking minx. You can’t get enough.”

The tension builds in her stomach as she grinds against the heel of her hand. Cursing, Spencer watches with lust-laden eyes as Y/N writhes on the bed. Sweat forms against her brow as her feet dig into the mattress and her thighs burn in exhaustion. Until she finally feels that familiar burst of pleasure release.

“Fuck, fuck,” She curses, so caught up in her own pleasure the room seemed to spin around her. “I–I…Spencer, I’m coming.”

Her release washes over her as she slumps down into the bed, finally spent with all her energy expended. She can barely hear Spencer shuffle over, nearly tripping over his feet since his pants remained gathered around his ankles.

“Holy shit.” Spencer curses. “That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.” He looks at her with half awe and half love. He pulls his underwear back up and kicks his pants off as he sits on the bed. “Are you alright, babe?”

Y/N groans, her cunt is raw with overstimulation and it is like every single nerve in her body is lit on fire in the best way possible. She offers Spencer a weak thumbs up that morphed into an equally weak fist bump. He obliged and gave Y/N a sweet forehead kiss in return.

“So toys are a plus for us,” Spencer muses. He adjusts the pillows on the bed and helps Y/N sit up in a more comfortable position. “Thank you for this. I really enjoyed it. And I’m, you know, glad you’ll be occupied when I’m gone.”

Y/N’s face flushes as a warmth resembling love covers her entire being. “I should be the one thanking you,” she counters, “Wait…I didn’t get you off.” She says, sitting up and then failing as her tired body gave out.

“That’s a problem you already took care of,” Spencer protests, gesturing to his stained underwear. “I had already come untouched by the time you told me to touch myself. You put on quite the show, sweetheart.”

She raises her eyes in disbelief as Spencer chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you found that equally pleasurable. I don't think I’ve ever come as hard as I just did. And I doubt it’ll ever happen again.” She rises from the bed, with the help of Spencer. He grabs her waist as they make their way into her bathroom.

“Is that a challenge?” Spencer says, with a cocky smirk

“Fuck yeah it is,” Y/N said, “but I think I need like three weeks to recover.”

Thank you for reading! Please remember, I appreciate you reading, reflagging, and commenting on all of my fics. I love your feedback and appreciate your support & community more than you'll ever know.

Tag List (I don't want to bother anyone, so just tagging people I mainly interact with)

@reidsbookclub @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @boldlyvoid

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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